ABOUT LONG ISLAND

ABOUT LONG ISLAND; Indefatigable, Bill Baird for the Offense

By DIANE KETCHAM

Published: March 26, 1995

THE pineapple palms and balmy breezes of Florida claimed another mature Long Islander this winter season. Bill Baird, almost 63, spent February in the Sunshine State. But not by the pool. On the picket line.

Although eligible for Social Security, Mr. Baird keeps working, or in his words "crusading." "The fight is never ending," he said. An abortion-rights advocate for 32 years, Mr. Baird maintains that "even today people don't know a war is going on."

It is his mission to tell them. His time in Florida, he said "was spent giving speeches and picketing churches." Surely he must have stopped somewhere for a little rest and relaxation. Perhaps Disney World? "I would never go there," he said. "That right-wing Disney."

Where others think Mickey Mouse, Mr. Baird thinks politics. It is hard for him to think of anything else. Spend an afternoon with him in his hometown, Huntington, and come away drained. Not a moment passes that his activities as a "freedom fighter" aren't discussed.

So dedicated is he to his cause that life's pleasures seem to have passed him by. There are no hobbies, no vacations. Through his 30's, 40's, 50's and now 60's there has been only one purpose to his existence, to promote a woman's right to birth control and abortion. His resolve is remarkable. But it has left him a lonely and targeted man.

Two weeks ago a shot was fired at his house, he said, and it was not the first time.Two years ago a bullet went through his front window as he sat watching the 11P.M. news. He reported the incidents to the police, but no one has been apprehended.

Walk with him down the tree-lined Main Street of Huntington and it's like a war zone. "See that antenna," he said pointing to a telephone antenna on the roof of a Lexus. "In two seconds it could be ripped off and used to cut your jugular vein. See the way that car is parked. I never get out of the driver's side of a car. You put your foot out, and they can slam the door on it, preventing you from escaping."

He refuses to cross the street until the light is with him. "I'm looking everywhere," he said. "My skill of survival is that I'm very agile and always on the alert." He sits in restaurants only in the back booth, facing the door. He rarely travels alone. "I always have a witness with me," he said.

In the past critics sometimes viewed Mr. Baird's fear of assassination with skepticism. But people have been murdered in the abortion-rights movement recently, and with his visibility threats are taken much more seriously. When he speaks he is often given heavy police protection. The police urged him to wear a bulletproof vest before giving a lecture at Southampton College. "I got a call last night from a reporter," he said, "who heard there is someonecoming after me who drives a blue Cadillac."

It is hard to comprehend what constant fear of death can do to the psyche. "I'm scared all the time," he said. "Without fear you don't have courage." With fear you can lose loved ones.

Mr. Baird's never-ceasing commitment has taken away his family, as well as his personal freedom. Two decades ago death threats compelled him to move his wife and five children to rural New England. He stayed on Long Island. The temporary separation became permanent. His family grew religious, he said, and has little to do with him today. "After 23 years of separation I got divorced last year," he said. His three daughters do not speak to him, he added, which prevents him from seeing seven of his nine grandchildren. "My granddaughter is going to Catholic school," he said. "Does that show how strained my family situation is?"

Although he does see his two sons, it's not as if they share a round of golf. "My son Scott," he said, "serves as my bodyguard sometimes when I give speeches."

Mr. Baird is also estranged from his brother, a physician in Manhattan. "We don't share the same philosophy," he said. "I had McGovern. He had Nixon."

Alienation from family is "part of the price I have to pay for being a warrior," he said. He is in love with someone, he added. But afraid for her safety, the woman refused to be interviewed or even mentioned. She was also emphatic that no reporter visit the house she and Mr. Baird share. He was shocked.

"I've been with her for seven years," he said. "I never knew she felt this way. I understand why. But I now realize I am truly alone." The only unconditional love he may receive comes from his German shepherd, Skipper, whom he has trained as an attack dog.

No longer are there the abortion clinics where affection and gratefulness flowed from the impoverished women he helped. His last clinic, in Hauppauge, closed last year. "I couldn't get enough money lecturing to keep it going," he said. "I'm not a businessman. I did a lot for free."

"The Father of the Abortion Movement," as United Press International once called him, went on unemployment. Two weeks ago he applied again. "They said I wasn't eligible," he recalled, "because I hadn't worked for 16 weeks."

When asked about recent sabotage at Long Island abortion clinics and the possible eviction of a clinic in Garden City, Mr. Baird just shook his head. He experienced those abuses years ago. In the mid-60's he was the first person in the country to open an abortion-counseling clinic. In 1979 his clinic in Hempstead was firebombed. Fifty people were inside, but no one was killed. In 1993 the clinic was attacked with toxic gases and later flooded. There were always pickets and threats. "I've been shot at, firebombed, punched and spit upon," he said. "I've been jailed eight times."

He would open another clinic tomorrow, he said, if he had the money. But money is another of life's essentials that Mr. Baird seems to have little of. He doesn't own a car or a house. Although he said he received $2,000 to $3,000 for the big speeches, they don't come often. Mostly he gets by talking to smaller groups. "For the last three years I've averaged less than $15,000 a year," he said.

Women are his No. 1 audience, but he will speak to just about any group. "I've talked to nudists," he said, "and swingers. I'm going to be speaking at a convention of adult-video store owners in Chicago soon. They own bookstores and they are under attack."

His current job title is director of the Pro-Choice Defense League, which is basically Mr. Baird and P.O. Box 324 in Huntington. "I go to a bank and apply for a loan," he said, "and the computer kicks out that I've been in jail eight times. All they know is to stay away from me."

He doesn't know where future funds will come from. "I'm not a very good organizer," he said. "I never had a fund raiser."

It would be interesting to see who would attend. Besides his family, he is estranged from the leaders of the women's movement. He says it's because he is a man. "Vaginal politics," he calls it.

Could his deeds also be a reason? Before there was Act-Up in the AIDS movement, Mr. Baird was acting up in the pro-choice movement. For 25 years he has carried a cross when picketing, mostly in front of Catholic churches. For 21 years he has attended the National Right to Life Conventions. "They're talking about giving me an award," he said, "because I've attended more conventions than their own board members. I stay in their hotel. I ride the elevators with them."

He learned at an early age, he said, that "you stand up to the bully." But his in-your-face-attitude to the opposing side and to the leaders of his own side make some people question the purity of his commitment. Are his actions for the cause or his own promotion? "What is there about society that can't accept the goodness of a person?" he asked. "I'm not a zealot. I'm a pioneer." Why does there have to be an ulterior motive, he asked, for what he has done for the women of this country. "Why can't people just acknowledge my accomplishments?"

Perhaps it is because he has such a need to remind people of what they are. He brought to a restaurant in Huntington a shopping bag full of clippings. He did that, he said, so that the historical record would be accurate. "I'm a realist," he said. "I realize I have something to prove to you."

In the small cottage where he lives he keeps 74 scrapbooks. It is his way of "keeping the record straight."

"I won't let them invalidate the courage I've shown," he said.

He doesn't realize that the words sound arrogant, that humble is not an adjective to describe Bill Baird. If he were describing himself, he said, the words would be "loving, caring and very shy in my own way."

"I love humanity," he said. "If I loved Bill Baird I would have a fancy life style, fancy cars. I could have been a business tycoon instead of sitting with my back to the wall in the last booth with my frayed copies of stories in my hands."

Wednesday was the 23d anniversary of his Supreme Court victory, Baird v. Eisenstadt. It was an important decision for the right to privacy and the right of an individual to have access to birth control. He knows its date like a child's birthday. In many ways his Supreme Court victories have become his children. He proudly speaks of what they have accomplished for freedom in this country.

Even his detractors acknowledge that Bill Baird has had a major impact on the abortion-rights movement. But at what price? So intense is he about the cause and his role in it that you want to shout, "Lighten up!"

Isn't there anything in his life but the cause? "Well, I run like a rabbit," he said. He jogs several miles a day. "And I do calisthenics and weight training."

Someone gave him a small organ that he has learned to play. "I used to sing in a church choir," he said. "I play dental music. I like love songs like 'Because.' " Occasionally he goes to the movies. "I cry easily," he said. "I always have tissues with me when I go to see a film."

Underneath the "warrior" is a fragileness. "I play Santa Claus at Head Start programs," he said. "I am the best Santa!" For a moment the intensity lifts, and there is a sparkle in the blue eyes. "I go ahead of time," he said, "and I lay all the toys on a table and then I cover them with white paper like snow. Then I leave, and all the kids come in. Then I arrive with my, 'Ho ho's,' and I ring my little bells. I ask them questions. Then I say, 'What's under the snow?' And I grandly lift it up and let them pick out their own toys!"

But he can't pick out toys for his own grandchildren. As he looked in the windows on Main Street, he stopped in front of a little stuffed bear. A smile came to his face. "I'm thinking about my granddaughter and how she might like that," he said.

Why not buy it for her?

"I send her books," he said, moving on.

It was time to return to the restaurant. He had more clippings to show. "One person can make a difference," he said as he turned the pages.

As the afternoon shadows turned into night he got up to leave. A woman in the next booth grabbed his hand. "Keep up the good work," the woman, Gina Margey of Huntington, said.

Mr. Baird smiled and said, "I don't know you, do I?"

"No," Mrs. Margey said. "But I recognize you from the newspapers and I just wanted to thank you."

" People spit at me, you know," he said.

"Well, I'm not spitting," she said.

Mr. Baird nodded and headed toward the door. "I'm for pro-choice," Mrs. Margey said as she watched him walk off carrying his bag of clippings. "Pro-choice," she repeated, almost reverently. "Bill Baird represents that to me."

Photo: Bill Baird paying a visit to his hometown, Huntington. (Rick Miller for The New York Times)(pg. 2)